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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29823669">Snapshots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trin303/pseuds/Trin303'>Trin303</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Imagine Being Loved By Me [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>John Wick (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, F/M, John Wick Prequel, John is a househusband, Pre-John Wick (2014), Retired John Wick, The domestic years, Therapist Helen Wick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:14:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,407</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29823669</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trin303/pseuds/Trin303</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of Talk, a series of one-shots and stories from Helen's and John's life together after the Baba Yaga retires.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Helen Wick/John Wick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Imagine Being Loved By Me [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2192403</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Snapshots</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Beta'd by my dear friend meetmeinthematinee &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something is wrong. He knows it in his bones, it courses through his blood.</p><p>John creeps up the stairs, carefully, eyes peeled as he looks around the dark familiar house. He hears nothing, not even the soft sounds of breathing. He reaches the hallway and it seems to fluctuate in length, keeping him from his destination.</p><p>At last, he makes it to his destination, turning into the doorway to find an empty room. An empty bed.</p><p>No. No, no, no. She was supposed to be there.</p><p>He jumps as he hears a phone ring.</p><p>The tone vibrates loudly, almost menacingly.</p><p>With shaky hands, he reaches to answer.</p><p>An unfamiliar voice taunts on the other end <em> you’ll never see her again </em>.</p><p>John slams his eyes closed.</p><p>This isn’t right; this isn’t right.</p><p>When he opens his eyes, he’s no longer in the room. Instead, he’s on an empty street. He can idly smell the sea, tasting the salty air on his tongue. It’s nearly bitter. He scans the horizon and while he does not recognize it, he notes that it is oddly familiar but he can’t place it.</p><p>He spots a house and somehow <em> knows </em> that is where he is supposed to go. </p><p>He sets a course for it, unsure of why. His legs carry him there anyway. It’s old and rickety and should have been condemned long ago but he walks up the path and the steps to the door. Before he can knock, a gust of wind blows it open.</p><p>It’s empty. Void of any signs of life. There are no people, no furniture. Only a thin layer of dust on a down-trodden floor.</p><p>Again, he is drawn forward, seemingly of his own accord. He finds an open door that leads downstairs into a basement.</p><p>He descends uncertainly. Nerves and anxiety pour through him even if he can’t understand what he is doing or why he is doing it.</p><p>Then he sees her.</p><p>Helen. His Helen, lying on the concrete floor. A pool of blood dried at her head, her eyes open but empty.</p><p>“No,” he says, surging forward. John drops to his knees and scoops up her lifeless body, “No, no, no, no, no, no. Helen, sweetheart, please. Don’t leave me! You can’t leave me!”</p><p>The voice from the phone is suddenly in his ear, <em> It’s just business, John. </em></p><hr/><p>He awakens with a gasp, startling back into the real world.</p><p>The weight on his chest shifts, a small dissatisfied moan escapes Helen as she picks up her head.</p><p><em> She’s alive, </em> he thinks as he closes his eyes, <em> she’s safe. </em> His breathing is still heavy with fear and fright from the nightmare.</p><p>Fuck, every hair stands on end and he suddenly feels ice cold, even underneath the blankets and the heat from her body.</p><p>He feels her hand cup his bearded cheek and her voice, still ladened with sleep, asks, “What’s wrong?”</p><p>Her voice relieves him all the more, but he cannot get the image of her broken body out of his head. He hadn’t been there and Helen had been taken from him.</p><p>But he shakes his head as he opens his eyes. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”</p><p>And he should have known that was going to be the wrong thing to say because he feels the bed move as she pushes up to get a better look at him. Even as drowsy as she clearly was, Helen had a way of staring into his soul.</p><p>“Nightmare?” she guesses.</p><p>John nods.</p><p>She hums, sitting up and stretching before she pushes the covers off. “Come on.”</p><p>“It’s the middle of the night,” he says, glancing at the clock. 3:26.</p><p>“Yep.” She steps into her slippers and leaves the bedroom without another word.</p><p>He glances to the clock again and shakes his head. John climbs out from under the covers to follow her. She leads him downstairs to the kitchen.</p><p>“Sit down.” She tells him, leaving no room for argument. She grabs a saucepan and sets it on a burner.</p><p>John takes a seat at the island, “You have to work in the morning.” He reminds her as he watches Helen take the milk from the fridge.</p><p>“I’ll be fine.” She says, sounding unconcerned as she turns on the heat, “How often do you have nightmares?”</p><p>“Almost never.” At least, none that he remembers. And not for a damn long time.</p><p>She rummages in one of the cupboards and pulls down a tub of cocoa.</p><p>John lifts a brow, “Cocoa?”</p><p>“As a licensed therapist, I can tell you that chocolate holds more answers than Freud.”</p><p>He laughs softly, watching as Helen scoops the powder into the saucepan.</p><p>“You want to tell me about it?” she asks, finding a wooden spoon to stir it.</p><p>He considers the question. He knows if he says he doesn’t want to talk about it, she’ll respect it. But he’s also spent a lifetime keeping things to himself because he didn’t have anyone who cared or who would listen.</p><p>“I was back at your house the night…” he trails off.</p><p>She knows the night. When Helen had been drugged and kidnapped, taken from her bed by the head of the Italian Syndicate, Mateo DeLuca. She was taken and held hostage for two days while John searched for her.</p><p>Helen nods in understanding. She scrapes the milk off the side of the spoon and sets it to the side as she walks over to the island. Reaching across, she takes his hands.</p><p>“Go on.”</p><p>John shivers but nods, “The hallway outside your room kept growing. And I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know what. So I kept trying to reach your room. And when I finally did, you were gone and…” he pauses to give himself a moment to breathe, “I heard DeLuca saying I would never see you again.”</p><p>Helen squeezes his hands in comfort.</p><p>“And then, I was back at the house. The one where he held you. I went into the basement and I found you…”</p><p>Dead.</p><p>But he cannot say it aloud. Closing his eyes, he forces himself to continue.</p><p>“You weren’t breathing,” his voice nearly breaks. He can still see the image of her lying there. It’s been branded in his head, “And you were bleeding. There was this pool of blood and you wouldn’t wake up.”</p><p>She squeezes his hand in support.</p><p>“I kept begging you to come back to me and then I heard DeLuca again. He said, <em> “it’s just business </em>.””</p><p>It was a miracle that they had survived DeLuca’s demands. That they even stood there, now.</p><p>If he had so chosen, DeLuca could have killed Helen a thousand times, a thousand ways in the days that he held her hostage. He planned to have her killed even after John had rescued her.</p><p>Helen stands up, taking her hands back as she walks around the counter to where John sits. He turns as she approaches, regarding her carefully. She places a hand on his head and he finds himself leaning into it in comfort.</p><p>“I’m right here.” She reminds him. “I’m safe.”</p><p>John swallows as he nods.</p><p>She was safe.</p><p>But she almost hadn’t been.</p><p>“It’s just…” John trails off, not even sure what he was trying to say.</p><p>“It was scary. It was the first time in a long time that you hadn’t felt in control of a particular situation.” Helen synthesizes.</p><p>He nods, gratefully. Words have never been his forte but she’s always been able to get into his head. To see exactly what he wants to say even when he can’t figure out how.</p><p>“I couldn’t find you.” He mutters, reaching out to touch her. To ground himself to her very presence.</p><p>“But you did.” She reminds him gently.</p><p>After two days.</p><p>And anything could have happened in those two days. He had been so afraid that he wouldn’t find her in time. Or that he’d find her hurt and broken, a shell of her former self…. And it would have been his fault for putting her in danger, for not protecting her…</p><p>“For lack of a better word,” Helen tells him, “it was traumatic.”</p><p>John shakes his head, “I don’t know why I’m struggling so much.”</p><p>“I think several factors are coming into play. The first of which is that I’m going back to work tomorrow. I think you’re probably nervous, even if only subconsciously, that something might happen once I leave your sight.”</p><p>“It’s not subconscious.” He admits, “I’m fucking terrified. I even considered just sitting outside your office all day tomorrow, but I know… I know that won’t actually help.”</p><p>“It won’t.” She agrees. “And I know it’s confusing, but this is a perfectly normal response to going through something like this.”</p><p>Again, he shakes his head. It isn’t right. “You were the one kidnapped. Why am I the one falling apart?”</p><p>Helen leans in and kisses his nose, “Because it isn’t that simple.”</p><p>She steps out of his arms and walks back to the stove. She stirs the pot and John watches the steam as it rises.</p><p>“I don’t understand.”</p><p>“Trauma is relative.” Helen says as opens the cupboard and finds two of her mugs which she had unpacked only days before. “You’ve lived through ordeal after ordeal for the better part of your life. You became numb to a lot of things that the average person might view as traumatic—violence, death.  Chaos and destruction.</p><p>“You’re a veteran,” she points out. “You’ve been in combat situations that others may have found debilitating. Think back… were there people in your unit who were uncomfortable with killing or direct violence? At least in the beginning?”</p><p>Definitely. He idly remembers a pimpled-face boy, still struggling to grow facial hair who had cried himself to sleep the first night overseas. He thinks of another who hadn’t made it through basic training before he was begging to go home.</p><p>“They grew up in comfort—with all their needs met. Food, shelter. Some of them came from loving families, I’m sure. But you grew up fighting for survival. What was bare minimum for them was near luxury for you.</p><p>“Our brains,” she continues, “continue to develop until we’re about twenty-five but the things we learn in the first years of our lives are what really stick with us. They’re formative. What might be traumatic for the average person became your baseline.”</p><p>Helen moves the pot from the burner. Carefully, she pours the hot liquid into the mugs.</p><p>“When I first met you, you were still in survival mode. In some ways, you thrive in it. But, after a while, you formed an attachment to me.” She opens the fridge and pulls out of a bottle of whipped cream—something John had never once had in his home before she moved in, insisting that it was a household staple.</p><p>“Ah, so it’s your fault.”</p><p>She throws him a wink, adding a mountain of the cream to each beverage. Helen picks them up and walks around, taking a seat on the stool next to his, handing him the drink.</p><p>“I do get what you’re saying.” John says once she settles onto the stool and sips at cocoa. “Losing…” he can’t even finish the sentence. His chest feels too heavy, his throat too tight.</p><p>“Losing me, for however short a time, was scary.”</p><p>Scary was an understatement. Terrifying, horrifying… they all fell short of the myriad of emotions that rushed him when he found her house disturbed and Helen missing from her bed.</p><p>“It was traumatic for you. And trauma takes a hold of us. Especially when it’s unprocessed. It shows up in other ways.”</p><p>“Like what?” He wants to be prepared for what may come.</p><p>“Well, the nightmares for one. But it can manifest in all sorts of ways. Flashbacks. Aggression. Sometimes people emotionally shut down, but since that’s you at your baseline, I’m not too concerned.”</p><p>He shoots her a look.</p><p>“Drink your cocoa.” She tells him.</p><p>He resists the urge to roll his eyes and does as his woman demands. It’s hot but still soothing. And he doesn’t want to admit it, but the whipped cream is perfect.</p><p>He sets the mug down and Helen giggles.</p><p>John arches a brow and she reaches out, “Got whipped cream on your nose, killer.”</p><p>She wipes it and John catches her wrist in his hand. Slowly, deliberately, he brings her hand to his mouth, sucking the finger into his mouth. All the while, never taking his eyes off of her.</p><p>Helen rewards him with the smile she saves just for him.</p><p>
  <em> How close he had come to losing her for good. </em>
</p><p>And yet, if he hadn’t lost her at all, they wouldn’t be here.</p><p>They’d still be sitting across the room from one another, avoiding the heaviness of what they both felt with talk of simpler things.</p><p>And he doesn’t know what to make of that, either.</p><p>“Do you ever…” He hesitates, “Do you ever think about how we might not be together if…?”</p><p>“If DeLuca hadn’t taken me?” She’s oh-so-good at picking up on the things he can’t bring himself to say out loud. But she had proven, time and time again, to be much braver than he was.</p><p>John nods.</p><p>So does Helen, “That thought has crossed my mind.”</p><p>“How do you cope with it?”</p><p>She shrugs, “It is what it is. Radical acceptance. I can still hate DeLuca for what he did to us even if I’m grateful that it got us to this point. Life is complex. So are our feelings. And that’s okay.” She takes another long sip. “Love is beyond good and evil.”</p><p>“Nietzshe.” He recognizes, “I suppose it makes sense. Otherwise, you’d never look at me twice.”</p><p>“I’m going to get a nerf gun and start shooting you every time you make a self-deprecating comment like that.”</p><p>“What’s a nerf gun?”</p><p>“It’s a toy gun that shoots foam.”</p><p>John makes a face of disbelief, “What’s that supposed to do? Because I’ve been shot with actual bullets and I can guarantee you it never changed my behavior.”</p><p>Her lips twitch, “Hmm. You’re right. Negative reinforcement may not be the way to go with you. We could do the reverse—every time you say something good about yourself, I’ll give you a kiss.”</p><p>He arches a brow, “I can just say things I don’t believe.”</p><p>“Fine. This isn’t a quick fix. I expect it to take some time but, eventually, you may start to believe those little affirmations.”</p><p>“So if I say I’m great…”</p><p>“Then I,” she scooches her chair closer, “would have to reward you.” She cranes her neck, and he meets her part way, accepting the softest of kisses against his lips.</p><p>“I could get on board with this.” He says as she pulls away.</p><p>“I’m sure.”</p><p>He sips at his cocoa. It’s still so new, all of it.</p><p>Two weeks ago, he had been sleeping alone every night. It was a good change. The <em> best </em> change, but he still wasn’t entirely used to sharing his life. Or his thoughts and feelings.</p><p>And it’s new for her, too.</p><p>Even if life with Helen feels as natural as breathing, it’s new. And there’s a learning curve.</p><p>He had some practice with telling her what was on his mind, but he had spent so long hiding his feelings for her, he occasionally has to remind himself that it’s okay.</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>“I love you, too.” She rests her head against his shoulder.</p><p>He loves her so much. He’s never had anything like this before. Something so beautiful and complex and utterly breakable.</p><p>Helen is utterly breakable.</p><p>In turn, so is he.</p><p>He never realized just how easy it would be for him to fall apart until he lost her.</p><p>And now, it’s all he can think about.</p><p>Who would he be if she wasn’t there?</p><p>And, a darker thought that clouds his mind, <em> what </em> would he be if she wasn’t there?</p><p>He fears something far darker than the Baba Yaga would emerge if he lost her. He shivers and amends <em> if he survived losing her </em>.</p><p>He wasn’t sure he would want to live without her, in any context. If DeLuca had killed her rather than held her hostage, John can’t imagine wanting to live.</p><p>He wouldn’t shoot himself or take pills or anything to that active extent… but he thinks he might go mad. Like a rabid dog until someone was kind and merciful enough to put him out of his misery.</p><p>And like she can sense that he is going down a darker rabbit hole, Helen slips off her stool and stands next to him. Her arms wrap around him, squeezing his middle tightly.</p><p>He feels his own arm lift to wrap around her as she buries her face in the crook of his neck.</p><p>“I’m here.” Helen reminds him. “I’m here and I’m safe and I’m yours.”</p><p>He exhales a breath and tightens his grip, hugging her while simultaneously pulling her up onto his lap. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling her soft scent. Like peaches and cream.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” He should be so much stronger than this.</p><p>“For what?” Helen pulls back enough to look at him.</p><p>
  <em> For this. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For falling apart. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For not being strong enough. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For not being the good man you deserve. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For waking you up in the middle of the night. </em>
</p><p>For everything.</p><p>“I’m having a harder time with all this than I thought I would.” He shakes his head, “I got you up at three in the morning because I had a fucking nightmare.”</p><p>“Baby, you don’t need to apologize for being human.” Her hand strokes his beard, “I get it. We had a crazy couple of weeks.”</p><p>He glances down, “Yeah, but you’re not falling apart the way I am.”</p><p>“You’re not falling apart. You’re adjusting. And you’re also forgetting, I mentally prepared myself for this. And I knew you would be coming.” Helen shrugs a shoulder, “And quite frankly, it could have been <em> worse </em>.”</p><p>His stomach rolls at what she alludes to.</p><p>The entire two days she had been gone, he wondered what could be happening to her. He imagined every vile and terrifying possibility, prepared to burn down all of New York to find her.</p><p>“But it wasn’t.” She says forcefully, breaking through his thoughts to capture his attention. “And now, we’re here. And we’re both safe.”</p><p>They were.</p><p>He still has enemies, but he is <em> out </em>. And, frankly, no one will care about him if he isn’t in the game.</p><p>So why couldn’t he wrap his brain around that fact?</p><p>“It’ll take time.”</p><p>“How much time?” He asks, wondering if his desperation is audible.</p><p>“I don’t know. Everyone processes things differently. But it could be a little while before you’re able to make peace with it all.”</p><p>“And until then, what?” He’s so used to her having the answers. A part of him knows it's unfair, but the other part just wants Helen to tell him that it will be okay, “I live with PTSD?”</p><p>“Technically, you don’t have PTSD. Symptoms have to persist for at least one month for that diagnosis. Until then, it’s just acute stress.” She gives a small smile, “But I know that’s not the point. You will have to live with it… for now.”</p><p>He had been afraid of that. He didn’t want to live with it. Especially now that he finally had Helen, now that she was finally <em> his </em>, he didn’t want to waste time processing shitty memories.</p><p>“But,” she leans her head against his, “You don’t have to go through it alone.”</p><p>John closes his eyes, resting his head. Breathing in her soothing scent once more.</p><p>Because she is right. For the first time in his entire life, he could truly say that he isn’t alone. He has someone in his corner who loves him. And he no longer cares that he doesn’t deserve her. He’s never letting her go.</p><p>Not for the world.</p><p>She’s his for as long as she will have him. And while John would never describe himself as a proud man, he is certain that he’s never begged for anything in his life. It almost surprises him when the words fall from his mouth desperately, “Don’t leave me.”</p><p>“Never.” She promises, “You’re stuck with me, Jardani.”</p><p>John holds her tighter.</p><p>Everything will be okay.</p><p> </p>
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